


Clear blur

by Apocalyptic_lipstick



Category: Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: Alex is such a scattered brain here, And Alex confusingly and unwittingly wrote Miles a love letter of sort, Just Miles hanging at Al's flat, M/M, Miles looks so fashion obsessed here?, Rambling Alex at his peak, There's literally nothing, i don't even know I'm just bored and wanna write something
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 08:21:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11528319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apocalyptic_lipstick/pseuds/Apocalyptic_lipstick
Summary: Alex wrote something. Miles read it. But chances are, Alex didn't want him to read it.





	Clear blur

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, there's literally nothing here I'm just bored so here's a rambling Alex. There is no proofreading whatsoever so sorry in advance.

On the faithful afternoon, Miles remembered wearing the new Alexander Mcqueen loafers, which seemed to prompt everyone he came across to spill some type of liquid around him. He arrived at Alex's London flat at two, miraculously unscathed from any beverages and rain, albeit a few pops of the paparazzi, and let himself in with the spare key Alex probably had forgotten, only to find the flat devoid of its owner. About several possibilities popped up in his head;

1\. An alien, in the form of the local shopkeep, finally came for Alex after a few months of observation, taking him back to study at its home planet, probably to clone him, and send the duplicate back to earth. He noted to himself to look for "the signs of alieness" in Alex the next time he sees him, but also remembered how alien-y Alex can be.

2\. He's deep in thought and as it had happened several times in the past, wandered out aimlessly, just for the sake of having the physical movement to match with his mentality. Being London, he was swarmed by hoards of fans, tourists, and Derek's friends (the paparazzi that usually camp outside Alex's flat). Being Alex, he snapped back, panicked, and ran away. And was abducted by the alien shopkeep waiting for him.

3\. He completely forgot about the meeting and went about his day

Knowing Alex, it was probably the combination between 2 and 3, minus the hoards of people and the alien abduction part (He may have been watching too much alien abduction documentaries), as Miles knew how absentminded Alex can be when he's deep in thought, which seemed to be the state he frequented lately. He sighed, and sent out a text jokingly chastising him of forgetting their important rendezvous (It was their pint and chips ritual). Decided to wait him out in case Alex is free for dinner, Miles threw himself down the couch, or as Alex named it, "The work station" when he came upon a crumpled ball of paper wedged between two cushions. He almost threw it in the bin when the familiar handwriting peeked between the crevices and asked him,

_Are you listeni-_

For some reason, Miles was certain it was directed at him, which was what he told himself when he unfolded the paper into full view.

And it goes.

_Are you listening, whoever you are?_

_I repeated the question over and over. Looking at it from different angles. Holding it up to the light, let the transparent ray makes a tunnel through the thick, dark words, before disappearing again in a spin of the hook of the question mark. I tear it apart in anger and sew it back with calmer hands. Rearranging the order. By order of appearances. By order of importance. By order of the last man sitting at the end of the bar on a Wednesday night. But the question is unaffected. And I can't quite grasp the meaning or retain the certainty that I will ever come to terms with fully understanding it or the situation that brought it to light._

_Are you still listening, whoever you are?_

_I'm sorry that I'm not making myself clear. That's a problem of mine, you see. It's so easy to get misunderstood and I'm never good at setting myself straight. You have to understand that expressive as they are, words can sometimes detach itself from author's intention. Stringing them together can maintain some sort of meaning, but emotions? Where are they? I'm always afraid they will get lost trying to make sense of the words._

_Have I lost you, whoever you are?_

_I don't blame you if you do. I'm pretty lost myself. Sometimes I write songs about it. Hoping that maybe he will get the message before I do. Quite a brilliant man, that git. I hope that once he gets it, he'll tell me what it means. Because right now, there are only feelings and emotions - of something I can't quite pin down. I could only describe how it make things appear differently around me, around him. The colours change. Suddenly it feels like someone puts on a new camera lens on my eyes that blurs everything around him. His voice was the loudest in the room even though he was whispering. My vision, my senses tunnel around him. It was overwhelming, and at the same time calming. It's like home, but not quite. Because he excites you, but you know you're always safest with him._

_It looks clear to you now, doesn't it? But I assure you that's only the start of the problem._

_You see, I'm -_

"Miles?" Alex's voice cut off the sentence he's reading and out of reflex, he shoved the paper into his pocket before turning to the voice. Alex looked confused and a bit disheveled - his usual quiffed hair was in its natural, gel-free state, his Henley bared a few noticeable holes, and the jeans (Iron Heart's Indigo 14 oz, straight cut, His, but Alex had probably forgot that) rolled up with a bit of dirt on the cuff. In his hands were a paper cup (Probably coffee) and a thin paper bag (Probably croissant, not sure why he knew that), it looked like he just got up and went out for late breakfast, Miles thought, no alien abduction involved, probably.

"What are you doing here, wait, what day is..." Alex mumbled, scratching his head, his knitted brows slowly dissolved as the realisation came to him with a soft, "...Oh..."

"Oh is correct" Miles nodded with feign seriousness "Guess you also didn't read the text, huh?"

Alex pointed in the direction of his bedroom, "On the charger"

"Shoulda figured" Miles couldn't help but break into a smile. He didn't know what he was expecting from a guy who just figured that you can play games on the phone. Getting Alex used to having phone with him had always been a task.

"M'sorry" Alex said softly, "Have you been waiting long?"

"Nah," He replied, stretching himself over the couch, the crumpled paper felt heavy in his pocket, "Just admiring the hobo-chic aesthetic of the great Alex Turner's room", he said, kicking the pile of notebooks at the end of the couch for effect.

"Hey, fook off. Those are the next top-chart album you've just kicked"

"Really?"

"Yeah"

"Really?"

"No..."

Miles laughed and motioned Alex to sit on the couch. He watched as Alex picked off a piece of the croissant (He was right)

"So, what were you reading when I was coming in?"

 

**Author's Note:**

> Looks like a multi-parters, doesn't it? Well, TOO BAD. I'm a serial fic-abandonner and I am so sorry for what I am, really, please accept my apologies in case there's no follow-up.


End file.
